Later
by ThexInvisiblexGirl
Summary: My fluffier version of the All Things aftermath.


**Later**

She isn't sure at first what it is that wakes her. Then she hears the lazy drum of a stray branch against the window. The weather forecast has indeed called for strong winds that afternoon and night, apparently all the way through the weekend. She thinks she hears the sound of rain as well, but in the hazy state between sleep and wakefulness, she isn't entirely sure. She has no idea what time it is, but she figures she hasn't been asleep very long. She glances at the window. It's still dark out; the constant movement of treetops makes funny shapes that dance around the room, like a twisted disco ball. She shivers, dreading the thought of going out to face the chill.

Her glance falls from the window to the floor, where her green cardigan is visible in the pale moonlight among darker items of clothing, carelessly scattered all over the floor. She smirks inwardly as her eyes travel up, taking in twisted sheets, a grey comforter, and an arm, holding her in place. Her head reels with emotions she's yet to make sense of. Mostly she ponders the silly, meaningless ones, like fear that her black blazer will be horribly creased when she retrieves it, or relief that their first time wasn't in that horrendous waterbed of his. She lets her fingers flutter over his, mostly to test how deeply he sleeps. Once she's reassured that he's out cold, she carefully slips from underneath his grip.

It's impossible to tell her clothes from his in the dark and so she picks up the entire pile, then tiptoes to the bathroom. There she's assessing the damage. Her hose is deemed useless, so she stuffs it in the pocket of her skirt which has seen better days itself. She observes her reflection in the mirror as she hooks her bra and straightens her cardigan over it. She's determined to focus on the mission at hand, not to think, not to yearn. She lets the sound of her breathing guide her. She's trying to be practical; the sooner she leaves, the better.

In the living room she folds the afghan that has slipped to the floor. The tea mugs are not on the table; she figures he must have taken them to the kitchen before going to bed. She spots her shoes where she's kicked them off the previous evening. She walks into the kitchen, where she tosses the tea bags in the bin and rinses the mugs and spoon she finds in the sink. It is not yet dawn, and silence wraps around her like a hug. She used to love this time of day during her FBI training, when one could never know what the new day would bring. Before the conspiracies and shadowy figures and the X Files have taken over her life so completely. She can feel a silly smile lazily stretching across her lips. Who is she kidding? She will do it all again in a heartbeat if only she could.

She's so immersed in what she's doing, that when she turns and finds him leaning against the doorway, she nearly gets a heart attack.

"Jesus, Mulder," she breathes, her heart hammering, her smile quickly fading.

"Going someplace?" he asks, unflinching under her well-aimed glare. He wears faded blue pajama pants and nothing else; his arms are crossed on his chest. His eyes wander from her feet up; when their gazes meet he gives her an inquisitive look.

She knows exactly what he wants to know. She holds his gaze. "I'm not running," she tells him. He tilts his head slightly, giving her The Look. _Her_ look. Damn him. "I'm not," she insists.

"Could have fooled me," he says casually, softly.

"Well, you've always been paranoid," she retorts just as softly. For a split second he seems taken aback; then he lets out a chuckle which quickly shifts into a yawn. She shakes her head. "Go back to bed, Mulder," she gently commands him.

He doesn't miss a beat. "Are you going back with me?"

"No. I have to go home, get ready for work."

He gives her the once-over again, making her feel as naked as he is. She can feel blush begin to burn its way up her neck. "You're ready for work."

She laughs. She can't help it. It's such a guy thing to say. "I don't have any makeup on, I had to finger-comb my hair, I didn't even bother with my hose because it was too messed up, and this skirt is missing two buttons. Thanks for that, by the way."

"You're very welcome. It was my absolute pleasure. And I mean that in every sense of the word."

"Is that the jet lag talking or are you naturally this sharp so early?"

Her teasing question goes unanswered. Before she knows it he's crossing the tiny space until he's right in front of her. She's trapped between him and the countertop, which is pressing against the small of her back. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and pulls her closer by laying a hand on her waist. She all but stops breathing. The heat radiating from his body gives her goosebumps. "Please come to bed, Scully," he murmurs close to her ear. His lips hover over her skin; she shivers. He grins as if he's noticed.

"You're playing dirty," she tells him, hissing when his lips finally make contact with a spot just underneath her ear.

"You can bet your ass I am."

She waits, but he doesn't say anything else. She pulls away reluctantly to give him an inquiring look. "What, no snarky comment about my ass?"

He's actually blushing, she notices with satisfaction. Then he snaps out of it and shakes his head. "I know better than falling into this trap. I say something about your ass and you'll kick the hell out of mine."

"Fair point," she smiles, then gasps in surprise when his hand travels from her waist to said ass. She glares at him; he shrugs, unperturbed, and doesn't remove his hand.

"So?" he asks, suddenly distractingly close again.

"I can't stay." She's resisting him with all her might. "I want to, but - "

"You have an overnight bag in your car, don't you?" She huffs in dismay, wishing he hasn't known her so well. She stalls with her reply, and so he continues. "You've got no excuses, then. Unless this is you trying to graciously hint that last night was a mistake and that you're going to report me to HR as soon as you get to work."

For a moment his theory stuns her into silence. When she realizes he isn't kidding, she chuckles because apparently he doesn't know her as well as she's assumed five seconds ago. "What are you... Why would I..." She lets her voice trail off, then sighs. "Mulder, I have to report to Skinner's office at 9:00 sharp. I can't afford any distractions."

"Am I a distraction?" he asks in that low murmur that makes her weak in the knees. She rolls her eyes at him.

"Are you seriously asking me this?" Then she decides she's being overly harsh, that perhaps by resisting him to vigorously now, she's making him believe she's having second thoughts. She reaches out to touch his cheek, making sure she has his attention. "I'm not going to report you or ask for reassignment. Last night... I can't even tell you how long I've wanted this."

His eyes widen ever so slightly as if he truly hasn't expected it. Then he smiles, with relief, it seems. "Me too," he whispers, leaning towards her.

"But I need this to go slow," she says, putting as much distance between them as she can. "If there's one thing I learned from your friend Colleen, it's the realization I need to slow things down. Take my time."

"Take your time? Scully, this has been _years_ in the making," he says, looking so genuinely scandalized that she has to laugh.

"Exactly. So what's a few more hours, right?"

He considers this, then nods. "I guess you're right."

"I'm just so tired of running, Mulder. And I don't want to rush into this, however long it took us to get here. Precisely because of that. You mean too much to me."

She breaks her own rule and leans closer until their lips meet halfway. This kiss is everything she remembers from the previous night and then some. He gently pulls her closer, his hands fluttering over her body as if she's made of glass. Her hand remains on his cheek; her other palm is right on the border where his stomach meets his pajama pants. He pushes his hips ever so slightly towards her as they kiss; she doesn't let her hand stray. When they pull away they're both breathless. He presses his forehead against hers, still holding her by the waist. It's as if he will never let her go. She lets her eyes meet his; he flashes the most beautiful smile at her.

"So... how long have you wanted this?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

She laughs and hits his chest playfully. "You're delirious, Mulder. Go back to bed."

"You can always ditch work," he tells her casually.

"Will _you_ explain it to Skinner if I do?"

"I doubt he'll be surprised, to be honest. Half the people at work already believe we're sleeping together, anyway."

"You're awful," she giggles, despite her attempts to sulk.

"So what, you'd rather ditch me than ditch work? Is that how it is?"

"Mulder, whatever people at work believe, this puts a new spin on things. I'm just making sure we both have jobs to hold on to when all hell breaks loose over this."

" _If_ all hell breaks loose over this."

It's her turn to give him The Look. "Are you going skeptic on me? Really?"

"No. I just love it when you make this face," he says, looking at her so lovingly that she can't help but smile. "Also, now I can reply to it the way I've always wanted to."

His lips mould against hers again, soft and warm. Kissing him back is dangerously becoming an instinct. And something he's just said makes her heart swell with emotion. He's always wanted this, too. It's almost upsetting, the time already lost.

She pulls away first, then pushes him back gently. For a second she thinks he's going to argue with her again, but he just nods with what seems like reluctant acceptance. He follows her out of the kitchen to the living room, where she picks up her shoes without putting them on. Without her having to even ask, he walks her to the door and unlocks it. Then they just stand there looking at one another, unable to find the words yet knowing how unnecessary those are.

"Sleep off that jet lag and I'll check on you later, okay?" She sounds like her mother on days she stayed off school because of an illness.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever." He tries to scowl, but he's just too awful at that.

"Bye," she whispers, and turns to leave.

She hears the door softly click shut behind her as she advances down the hall. She ignores the apartment where the ghost of Phillip Padgett and his stories still linger and focuses instead on the promise she has left behind. Yes, she's going to take her time. For all the moments she believed she would never have him, that he would never be hers, she's going to savor it. In a way, she's grateful for her unlikely encounter with Daniel. She needed to put this behind her in order to take a step forward.

She's by the elevator now, pressing the button, waiting. But something still doesn't feel right. Like leaving the house while forgetting something essential behind. As soon as the elevator arrives with a clink, she drops her shoes and turns on her heel, all but running along the hallway like a character in a sappy movie, back to his door. Before she thinks better of it she knocks three times. It's like the sound of a hammer in the deadly silent hallway.

He opens the door with only a hint of surprise in his eyes and a smirk at the corner of his lips. He obviously hasn't been back to bed. Did he know she'd be back? She isn't sure, nor does she stop to find out. He nearly topples backwards as she pounces at him. His arms snake around her waist just as she wraps hers around his neck, bringing his head down. Then their lips meet, and the deserted hallway witnesses the kiss it has been deprived of months back.

When they pull away, he lays a palm against her cheek. He doesn't say anything; he doesn't have to. That's the beauty of them. That's why it's so right.

"Later," he smiles at her. She nods, drops another kiss on his lips, and turns to leave again.

This time she knows he's watching her all the way back to the elevator.


End file.
